


Sweet Dreams

by Queenofthebees



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Post-Series, R plus L equals J, Sansa never marries Ramsay or Harry (depending if you want to see this as post book or show)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 13:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12865602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: Once she had fantasied about going south and being Queen, a dutiful wife to a golden prince and have golden-haired children. She had fantasied about the summer warmth, the silk dresses and how her wedding would be a lavish affair with a feast of dozens of courses and singers from all corners of Westeros and she would look as beautiful as Queen Cersei in her ivory dress, her hair in the southern style.Now she was a Queen in the North and Jon’s wife. Now she fantasied about giving Jon sons and daughters - a Robb and an Eddard, perhaps a Benjen and a Lyanna too. She no longer fantasised about pretty dresses or extravagant feasts. She only wanted to be with her family, with Jon and to have more mornings like this where they could spend eternity touching and kissing each other, getting to know each other as husband and wife.Jonsa Smut Week Day 4: Fantasies





	Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously the kinky part of my brain is on strike. So have some tooth rotting fluff instead lol

She wasn’t sure what had awoken her. It could have been the morning sun breaking through the drapes of her bed, it could have been Ghost’s loud yawn followed by his contented snort as he settled by the hearth again or it could have been Jon’s thumb tracing the soft skin of her hip.

Whatever it was, she decided she liked all the options. Especially Jon’s touch. She hummed appreciatively and Jon shifted behind her, his other hand coming up to brush the hair from her temple so that he could press a soft kiss there.

“Morning,” he whispered, trailing kisses down her cheek, her jaw, her neck. She arched her back at the feel of his lips, eyes fluttering shut again and a contented moan escaping her.

“Morning,” she managed to reply, her hand slipping down to tangle her fingers with his own, allowing them both to rest on the curve of her hip.

She hummed again, basking in the warmth of Jon’s body and the safety of his arms. She was surprised at how the simple brush of his fingers on her hip was leaving her wanting more. She had come to their bed a maiden, fearful of a bedding ceremony and what a marriage bed entailed. But it hadn’t been painful like she had expected, like she had been told. Jon had spent most of the time with his mouth on her breasts and between her legs that all she could feel was pleasure, and at most a twinge when he finally pushed inside of her.

After Joffrey murdered her father and she had become a prisoner in Kings Landing, she had feared marrying Joffrey, feared him hurting her and subjecting her to all sorts of humiliating acts as he bedded her. When she had been married to Tyrion, she had been disgusted at the thought of him moving inside of her and was forever grateful that he never took his rights. Tyrion had been kind enough to her but she had seen the look in his eyes, had still felt his touch that had left her in a cold sweat of fear and disgust. Later, when she was Alayne, she feared Petyr might force himself upon her. Before Jon came for her, she would wake night upon night with the image of Petyr panting above her. And while she had told herself time and time again that Jon was not Joffrey or Tyrion or Petyr, there was still the irrational part of her brain that needed him to prove it.

And oh, did he prove it!

Jon had forbidden a bedding ceremony for a start. He had asked if she wanted to undress herself or for him to do it, giving her complete control of when and how she wanted to start. In the end, she opted to mostly undress herself, although she did ask him to loosen her laces for her. He undressed himself and waited patiently for her to come to him, her shift offering barely no protection to the cold. He hugged her close to him, his touch soft and questioning, ensuring he had permission to continue. It was all at her own pace and when he kissed her, thoroughly and in every place, he could, she couldn’t help but melt into the bed and pull him to her. And when he finally entered her, he wasn’t imposing, he wasn’t pining her down or over-powering her, he wasn’t panting and slobbering over her but merely whimpering softly in her ear as he set his pace.

Once she had fantasied about going south and being Queen, a dutiful wife to a golden prince and have golden-haired children. She had fantasied about the summer warmth, the silk dresses and how her wedding would be a lavish affair with a feast of dozens of courses and singers from all corners of Westeros and she would look as beautiful as Queen Cersei in her ivory dress, her hair in the southern style.

Now she was a Queen in the North and Jon’s wife. Now she fantasied about giving Jon sons and daughters - a Robb and an Eddard, perhaps a Benjen and a Lyanna too. She no longer fantasised about pretty dresses or extravagant feasts. She only wanted to be with her family, with Jon and to have more mornings like this where they could spend eternity touching and kissing each other, getting to know each other as husband and wife.

Jon had granted her a new fantasy that she had not even realised she had but she was happy to embrace it.

“What are you thinking about?” he muttered softly, moving their hands to her stomach in order to pull her flush against him. She flushed as she felt his hardness against her backside.

“How I used to fantasise about being a southern Queen and how the reality with you is far better,” she said with a smile. Jon hummed, lips returning to her neck. Her smile grew at his tenderness. “I was also thinking about last night.”

“What about last night?” he whispered. Sansa’s eyes fluttered closed again as his breath on her neck sent a shiver down her spine.

“How good it was,” she replied with a blush. She felt Jon grin against her neck. “I…can we do it again?”

Jon didn’t say anything but his fingers untangled from hers, ghosting down her stomach, through her curls until his middle finger dipped lower, spreading through her folds. She whimpered as he swiped up and down, gently coaxing her body into bliss, spreading the wetness that started to gather there. He kissed her shoulder as his finger finally moved to circle the bundle of nerves that his tongue had given such thorough attention to last night.

He pulled at her leg gently, raising it up to settle over his own. She whimpered at the feel of him, testing her readiness, sliding through her folds until she was nudging her hips back in silent request. He hummed in acknowledgement before she felt the gentle stretch of him pushing inside of her. Her back arched, a contented sigh escaping through her parted lips as he settled in to the hilt.

“So good,” he mumbled, kissing her neck again. Sansa smiled to herself, her hand travelling down to grasp his own once more, letting them settle on her stomach as he began to move. The touch made her mind wander to her new fantasy and she spoke before she could stop herself.

“There could be a babe in here now,” she commented softly. Jon groaned, a high almost keening sound that had her raising her eyebrows. His hips jerked slightly and she turned her head to look at him. He was staring at her, eyes almost swallowed by his pupils and she grinned. “Would you like that Jon?”

“Yes,” he moaned, head falling into the crook of her neck, his hand moving back to her hip to push her down on him a little harder, faster, until she was panting breathlessly with the build of her climax.

“I want your babe Jon,” she whispered, intrigued at how this confession seemed to have him falling apart behind her, his rhythm faltering, his breath harsh against her skin as he tried to control himself.

Her climax washed over her, pulling Jon over the edge with her as he pushed deep inside of her, hands holding her hips possessively as he spilled his seed. She felt him slump away from her with a curse and she rolled over to regard him. He had an arm braced over his forehead, eyes closed as he breathed through his nose. Sansa reached a hand out to trace the scars on his chest, watching as his eyes opened to meet hers.

“I never thought I would have a son of my own,” he said after a moment. “Even when Stannis wanted me to marry Val, I just couldn’t see myself here, with children of my own blood.”

“And now?” she questioned, fingers toying with the course hairs that stretched down his stomach towards his navel.

“Now?” he grinned, pulling her up for a kiss. “Now I am always fantasising about our future babes, whether they will be more like you or me.”

“I would love to find out,” she whispered, smiling softly at him before she settled on his chest. She could feel her eyes dropping shut as his hand stroked her back and lulled her to a light sleep.


End file.
